Contra
by Synoran
Summary: Alfred knows more than anyone Toris couldn't hurt a soul, so why is he being blamed for murder? Determined to prove Toris' innocence, Alfred sets out to find the truth. But the closer he gets, the more inhumanly twisted it all becomes.
1. Chapter 1

I'm sorry for posting long, crappy fanfic. I don't even know where this came from… but enjoy, I suppose. Take this as an introduction. There's a lot of annoying exposition, I know, but I promise there will be more action, later, if I chose to continue this. It was more of an experiment than anything, so I'll see if people like it enough to continue. If I make any glaring plot errors, please tell me! And yes, there are a lot of inaccuracies, I'm sure… I tried to handwave them as much as possible, but I know they're still present. I'm really sorry, again! I'm a newb, so I'm not quite sure how to edit the previous document… if things are too error-ridden, I'll just re-upload later, I suppose.

Enjoy!

* * *

It had been, to put it bluntly, one hell of a day.

By the time I had reached my apartment that night, past midnight, though I didn't care to look at the clock, I was exhausted. The most I had the energy for was to take off my shoes before I collapsed onto my mattress, still in full uniform. With an annoyed sigh, I pulled myself under the sheets, gripping my pillow like it was my life preserver. In a way, it was. I needed rest more than anything, but my mind was reeling, and I had a sinking feeling that sleep would not come easily, even though I was delirious from overwork and exhaustion. The space next to me was empty, as I had expected it to be. Matthew was even more masochistic than me; he opted to stay at the station while he ordered me to get rest. Rest, I scoffed. Like that was going to happen. I had tried to object, but he had the higher-ups on his side. It seemed superfluous to them whether they needed me or not. I, apparently, was no use when I was walking into tables because I couldn't keep a proper balance. In all truth, I was thankful for the chance to stop, to just calm myself. I needed it. It brought some sort of calamity in my thoughts; I no longer had to worry about my actions until it was time to head back to work. On the other hand, now that I didn't have physical motions cluttering my mind, it was a chance to focus on everything. I didn't want to consider the possibilities of my or anyone else' actions just yet. That would come later, at the sake of my momentary sanity. For now, I would replay everything. Yes. Just the dull sense of memories, the wounds too fresh to reopen and become more painful just yet. I let my eyes fall close, under the pretense that it would do nothing. I was fine with that.

I had woken up just like usual. Growled at Matthew to get his ass out of bed, fixed myself a cup of coffee, and turned on the morning news. Just the usual happenings, nothing I wouldn't know about by this point. There were perks about working in law enforcement. You always got the inside info about crimes and such before the public. A small sort of bragging right that I liked very much to exercise to its full potential. Plus, there were some things they just didn't let the general populous know. I had turned it off before my brother had finally emerged from the bedroom in only his boxers, hair a tousled mess. I reminded him to get dressed before showing up at the station (as to avoid a situation like last time... I still had picture reminders.) and he came back five minutes later in full uniform, but still half-asleep. (It's certainly not my fault he has a hatred of coffee. It may taste like shit but it gets you going.) Right. Just like usual.

After gathering our belongings and whatever information we needed for work, we drove to the station, bickering all the way about something or other. I drowned him out with the radio before he went into full debate mode, a situation I had learned from harsh experience to avoid like the plague.

I greeted Inspector Ludwig von Whatshisface with a vague nod and a muffled good morning before heading down to my office, setting down my briefcase and fingering through files... it was a dull process. Though I worked for a relatively large city, lately there had been very little action. In fact, since I had taken the job two years prior, there had been only one case that really had shaken the station. It was a murder-suicide, and at the time I was hardly old enough for Ludwig to entrust me with a gun, let alone investigate a case like that. I had only gotten the information on it after the fact, but Arthur had been one of the top investigators on the case, and it managed to make him not act like a total stuck up asshole to me for a whole of two days. Something about cherishing what you have, or whatever. It didn't last, of course. I had seen police action before those two years, of course, I had taken an interest in law from an early age, done shadow trainings, jobs for the higher-ups, internships, anything I could get my hands on. In truth, I had no clue why the hell Matthew decided to follow the career path as well. I always figured he was better suited for a lawyer. But to each his own, I suppose.

I had just gotten comfortable with my feet on the desk as I examined the paperwork when the door was shoved open violently. I jumped, putting my feet firmly back on the floor in anticipation for Ludwig's scolding. So early in the morning, too.

Instead, there was no one. I furrowed my brow, heading back to my reading material.

"Detective Jones," a high, accented, but clearly male voice addressed, though I still couldn't for the life of me figure out who the hell it was. I gave the room a quick scan, finding it devoid of life besides me.

"Who's there?" I commanded, pushing my glasses up my nose furiously.

A sharp, annoyed sigh. "Lower your folder, Detective." I did as instructed, finding a short, Asian man in the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently against the green carpet. You think I'd learn by now that it would always be Kiku. And I called myself a morning person, for Christ sakes. "You have a visitor," he stepped aside, revealing a very familiar figure; light brown hair and dull green eyes, standing in a naturally shy stance, yet giving off an air of distinct formality. "I tried to explain to him that the station is strictly prohibited to those with major complaints and personnel, but he insisted a tie to you. And I wouldn't dare disturb your wishes." Polite as ever, even when he was giving me underhand jab right after the other.

"Toris," I had to keep myself from being too loud as a smile swept across my face as I sprung up from my chair, going to shake his hand. He smiled as well, but I could tell immediately it was pensive, reserved. He hadn't spent years in my care just for me to not be able to tell when he had something to say. He waited anxiously at the doorway, before I realized he was waiting for an invitation. "Come in, come in. Coffee?"

With a swift nod, Kiku was out of the room, shutting the door with a quiet sort of slam behind him. Toris still hesitated, hand connected to mine. He dropped his arm back to his side, taking a seat on the spare couch in the corner of my room. He stared at his hands, rubbing them together in a nervous habit.

"Oh," he realized I had asked him a question, his jittery habits increasing in rhythm. "No thank you, Alfred."

I poured a cup for myself, going to sit beside him. His eyes were focused intently on the carpet, like he was trying to memorize every little nuance in the pattern. I frowned, waving a hand in front of his face. "Nice to see you." Only then did he look up. The soft smile returned to his lips, and I studied his face, looking for more emotion than he was willing to show me. He looked fine, even though the skin beneath his eyes was bruised purple, the pallor of his face unusually pale. There was a light shake of his frame; from exhaustion or nerves I couldn't tell which. As a force of habit, my eyes flew to his wrists, though his forest green jacket obscured them.

A moment of silence passed between us before he spoke up. "I'm sorry for visiting you at work with no notice," he apologized. I opened my mouth to assure it was fine, but he cut me off. "Feliks has been very busy lately, my brothers too. I haven't seen you in a while, it would be nice to stop by, wouldn't it?"

I nodded, my suspicions growing by the minute. "No, I don't mind. I'm glad for the visit... would have been another boring day at the office, otherwise." Another awkward silence. I took a sip of my coffee, eyes narrowing. "Toris... what do you really want to talk about?"

He shrugged, pulling his sleeves down so they covered his hands. When he spoke, his words were a soft sigh. "Can I talk to you?"

I blinked, shocked he would be even asking such a question. The answer was so painfully obvious. "Of course."

"Again, I'm sorry," he began. "Normally, I would be confiding in Feliks these things, but..." He paused, the expression on his face showing contemplation. He was trying to find an eloquent way to phrase whatever was on his mind. "We don't talk much anymore."

"Why?" I pressed. "Did something happen between you two?"

He immediately shook his head. "No, of course not. He's been in Poland a lot more lately is all, and it's getting a bit harder to write. Plus, it's different when you're face to face talking with someone, right?"

Toris was stalling, simple as that. I sighed, with more worry than exasperation, however. "How have you been getting along on your own?"

His breath gave a small hitch, an unreadable emotion sparking in his eyes. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about..." He trailed off, switching his gaze to the small window, where a snow sky was on the horizon. "I don't very much like living alone..." I could see why. Toris was strong because there was no other way to go about things, but at night... When we lived together, I had diffuse his frequent panic attacks, shake him out of his nightmares, etc. It was why I was so thankful for Feliks. He had been living with Toris since the dissolution of the Soviet Union, and for all his faults, he cared about the kid. I hadn't heard anything about his business trips to his home country, however. In fact, I hadn't heard much from Toris in a while. We would talk on the phone sometimes, but the conversations were cut short, and far in between. It had been the first time we had talked in person for nearly a year. "I can't pay for rent on my own, I'm already supporting Raivis and Eduard. Feliks doesn't come back often enough to be worth having 'our' apartment, of course. Uhm... Alfred?"

"Yes?" I asked, gently prying one of his hands away, which had started to pick at his skin. His muscles tensed before relaxing once again.

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to..." he searched for the right words once more. "Freak out?"

Well, I had to be honest. "It depends on what it is."

He swallowed. "Well, you have to understand the situation I'm in, it's only a temporary thing until things cool down in Poland. I promise I'll leave as soon as he comes back!" He began to shake harder, which I attempted to steady with a squeeze of his hand. With a deep breath, he continued. "Alfred, it's not what it seems. Please understand that. But I'm going to be living with Ivan for the next few months. I-I have been already, for three weeks. It's why I haven't called as much as usual."

I drew a sharp intake of breath, the blood flowing hot in my veins. "God, Toris," I muttered, harsher than I had intended. "Are you crazy?" I sat down my drink, moving in closer to take both his hands. I was about to say, _'do you even remember what he did to you?_' but I stopped myself. It would be one of the greatest insults I could think of. Of course he damn well remembered. "I'd rather have you stay with anyone, anyone but him. We have room in our apartment, you know. Matt and I don't take up that much space. What did he tell you to get you to come...?"

"He didn't," he replied simply, almost monotone. "I asked him to take me in. He said he would be happy to. It's temporary, really. H-He hasn't don't anything to me..." The way he bit down hard on his lip as he said this, how he tried to get out of my grip but didn't in the end.

"That's a lie," I replied, making my tone clear it was no question. "Toris... Please. Tell me."

"I'm not lying," he objected, though it had no fight to it. He let out an exhale. "He's said some things, but he hasn't hurt me. He's... nice when he isn't afraid of losing me. But that's the reason I can't write to Feliks, he doesn't let me. I can talk to you, but even then he's not very lenient about it. I don't think he knows I'm out here, even. But I needed to talk to you, even if you don't understand. I'm not afraid of him this time around."

"You are," I said, almost a growl. "Look at the way you're shaking, Toris. You're terrified. And haven't you thought this over? At all? He's not going to react well when you're ready to leave, you know that, right?"

By the way his eyes glazed over as he stared at my feet, I could tell he hadn't even given it a thought. "I-I..."

"You can still stay at my place," I assured him. "I don't know how you'll convince him it's fine, but I think it may be the best thing we can do for you. It's better than Feliks coming home and the both of you getting hurt." I could see it happening all too well. It wouldn't be the first time the both of them would be over this. "Think about it." I didn't want to outright say it, but it wasn't a request. I loved him like a brother, like hell I was letting that communist bastard continue to abuse him. Unfortunately, I was almost certain it was happening, despite what Toris was telling me. His lying wasn't a downright sin; he was using it to protect himself. Or perhaps he was trying to protect Ivan... as twisted and wrong as it was, he cared for the monster. He actually _liked_ the prick.

He shook his head, gently dropping my hands. "No, it's fine. I'm just a bit nervous, is all. I needed to tell someone. P-Please don't repeat this, okay? There's no reason to panic, we're living in peace." He started the next sentence with 'for now', but stopped himself. "If things get worse... I'll tell you."

Still not completely convinced, I placed a hand on his shoulder for the briefest moments. "I'll be here. Who cares if I'm at work, or if it's the middle of the night?"

"Thank you, Alfred," he stood up, making his way towards the door. As he reached for the handle, the sleeve of his jacket fell down, revealing raw, red lines drawn across his skin, almost obscuring the flesh all together. My heart gave a lurch, but I wasn't exactly surprised. Of course he would hide it from me. I knew that from the minute he set foot in my office. I waited a few moments in silence after he left, before returning to my desk.

I had given him my word, but I knew exactly what I had to do. I rearranged my papers, picking them up in my arms to appear semi-productive in the hallways.

The station was pretty straightforward. Ludwig was the chief, his brother the deputy, though Gilbert rightfully didn't do much. Kiku was in charge of forensics, and Arthur for crime scene investigations. Vash and Roderich for interrogation. Not at the same time, of course, if you put those two in a room together they'd kill each other first. Everyone else worked under those people, and such, Kirkland was my boss. Too bad my detective skills were far superior, despite what he said. Besides Matt, unfortunately, everyone was above me in the pecking order. So I had to run to Ludwig whenever I had a problem. Because like hell I was letting Arthur take the reigns for cases that rightfully belonged to me. And this was _my _case.

I had the layout memorized. The only reason I looked up during the trek to Ludwig's office was not to run into anyone. Of course, it happened anyway. I gave his office door a sharp rasp, to no reply. I heard faint mutterings from inside, urgent and unintelligible. I pressed my ear to the metal nametag, hand resting against the doorknob. Frowning, I couldn't make out a thing. That is until he raised his voice.

"Come in," he boomed, my hands immediately pulling back. I managed to land in a meter away from the threshold. With a soft click, the door opened to a large, plain office room. I hadn't been inside since I was sworn in, and to be honest, I wasn't missing much. It was exactly like my own office, if not doubled in size and with no classic movie posters on the wall. Instead, file cabinets lined every corner, all as neatly arranged as his desk. As our eyes met, he was placing a phone back its hook. He surveyed me, the expression on his face as stern as ever. Cautiously, I stepped forward, loosening the grip on my paperwork.

"Inspector Ludwig," I addressed, hesitating at the doorway.

"Please," he begged. Just call me inspector. Well, come on in. What is it, detective? Didn't Kirkland give you a case report to fill out?"

"He did," I shrugged, trying not to show my distain for Arthur's busy work. "I'm here to ask permission for an investigation."

I almost caught a roll in his eyes. "Well, do you have a plausible cause of search?"

"Yes," I said immediately, and without thought. A few moments of silence passed over us before I realized he was waiting for farther affirmation. "I mean, yes, of course. Today, I received a visit from an old friend... I have reason to believe that his new guardian is abusing him."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "And what might this reasoning be?"

I swallowed, a small amount of guilt welling up inside me for betraying Toris' trust like this. Not like he had confided much in the first place, though. "Scars." No need to mention that they were self-inflicted. It wouldn't hold up as evidence in a courtroom. "It's happened before, years ago. I know it may not seem like a good enough reason, but it's not like it's completely out of the question."

"This seems... personal," he finished, after a moment of contemplation. "Are you sure this is the right place to be bringing these issues up, detective?" He paused. "You know the rules, we are not allowed unwarranted searches and investigations, unless there is hard or otherwise tangible evidence." He shifted his paperwork, straightening his back. "Unless you are willing to elaborate?"

I faltered, staring at my feet. The things Toris had told me before about his time with Ivan just hurt to think about, let alone repeat to my superior like it was casual. Impersonal. Just another piece of evidence. "He's possessive of him, that's what. He's not above scaring him into staying. Psychological, physical, sexual... I have proof of each one." I hissed out the last part, heat once again rising in my blood.

"Will it hold up in court?"

"Damn it, West," the door to his office jerked open, my head automatically swiveling around to take sight of the new visitor. Gilbert brushed his platinum blonde hair out of his red eyes, glaring. He took almost calculated march steps over to his brother, grabbing Ludwig's cell phone off his desk. "You were having phone sex with your bitch again, weren't you?"

The Inspector barred his teeth. "Gilbert, get the hell out of my office this instant."

"Doesn't change the fact that your boyfriend is in the lobby," he stuck out his tongue, taking a seat on top of his brother's neatly stacked paperwork.

If I hadn't known better, I would have seen the color rise in Ludwig's face. "Gilbert, what did you-?"

"I would talk to him if I were you," he interrupted, voice almost a song. "He doesn't have anger management boy to keep him check. I can handle this, I'm deputy, after all."

"I'm in a meeting," he hissed, but he was already out the door. "Don't do anything while I'm away." He pivoted to address me. "You, I'll be back in a moment."

Gilbert sneered, laughing to himself without looking at anything in particular. "So, what the hell did you want with him?"

I couldn't tell immediately if he was talking to me, but I answered all the same. "Search warrant."

This only seemed to amuse him more. "I heard fatass' name." He stared at me, as if expecting me to understand his various nicknames for people. "The Russian bastard, of course."

"So there's really no one in the lobby?" I asked.

"No, there is," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I just like to get my nose in whatever business he doesn't let me in on. So, what do you want with the prick and his property?"

"Investigating under suspicion of domestic abuse," I replied, trying to keep my professionalism in tact, though it was slipping by the moment, considering the other party in the room had his head in a stack of papers and his feet in the air.

"Fucking hilarious," he snorted, though his expression was humorless. "It's not domestic abuse if he does it to everyone, genius. Just cause one poor bastard complains about it doesn't make it special."

I sighed, having the sudden urge to hurl him out the window. "That doesn't change the fact that it's wrong!" I paused, surveying his expression, which hadn't changed in the least. "It doesn't seem like I'm going to get the warrant, anyway."

He rolled over, reaching behind his head for a pen. "I could write you up one. I have the right to do that... plus, I'd piss West off. And at least it would inconvenience the bastard, ja?" He rifled through the papers that now surrounded him, swearing in German under his breath. Eventually, he must have found what he needed.

"Doesn't a warrant take longer than this?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Yeah," he shrugged, sitting up to furiously scribble down a paragraph. "But who actually gives a shit, now and days? Corruption's just a part of it."

I questioned the nature of his comments, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I took it with a curt nod, letting my gaze fall to the writing. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Pocket it," he commanded, hopping to his feet. "Before West comes back. I didn't do a thing, you got that?"

Hell, now I was just questioning how legal this whole thing was. Regardless, I did what he said. I doubt it would have mattered to me either way, if it were legal or not. Perhaps I was overreacting, that there was nothing to worry about. Toris had turned to masochism when he was in no danger before, and there was no guarantee the scars weren't dated, from the distance I saw them at. It was hardly a form of deduction, either, just going off past experiences. I had seen him battered, bruised, the lashed on his back raw and bleeding… it hurt to think about. Part of it was to assure my vain hope that he wasn't lying. That everything really was fine. But my main objective, of course, was to get him away from Ivan. Even if he hadn't hurt him yet, he would. As long as Toris' mind wandered to other people, he would be in danger. Namely, his boyfriend and best friend, Feliks Łukasiewicz. And of course, to a lesser extent, I had to take some of the blame. But I would not be held responsible again.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," the Inspector growled, marching into his office with a short, spacey-looking brunet man in tow. "Last warning. Get out of my office, I'll deal with you later."

He shrugged in reply. "Whatever you say, West. See ya, Jonsey." In a flash, he was out the door, a soft chuckling heard as he made his way down the hallway.

"I apologize," he said with a grimace as he took in the sight of his desk. I thought I heard something vaguely like 'brother' and 'male whore', but I couldn't be sure. "What is it you wanted, again?"

"Nothing," I replied, remembering Gilbert's words. It may have been dishonest, but it was my best chance. "Sorry for bothering you, Inspector."

He furrowed his brow, suspicion clear in his eyes. "Good day, detective."

I left his office be fore he had the chance to interrogate me further. Just as I was getting out my cell phone to call Matthew, I ran headlong into my brother.

After a string of muffled apologies, he must have seen the severity in my eyes. "A-Al? What's wrong?"

"Hey, Matt?" I sent a quick glance around the hallway before pulling him into a corner, bringing my voice to a whisper. "Can you help me with something?" I drew the warrant from my pocket, sliding it to him. He readjusted his glasses, scanning the script with a crease in his brow.

"Ivan Braginski?" His eyes widened, looking at me as if I were mentally ill. "Why would you want to search his house?"

"Toris," I replied. He understood immediately.

He shook his head. Halfway to handing me back the paper, he hesitated. "Shouldn't you be asking Arthur for this, Al? I mean, he usually assigns and handles things like this… Wouldn't it be dishonest to just go without his approval?"

I shrugged, surprised at how successful I was at keeping my composure appear nonchalant. "Not really. I got the okay from Ludwig and his psycho brother." Well, not technically true, but close enough to avoid the brunt of a legal guilt trip. "Besides, he'd probably make matters worse." I met his eyes in expectance for him to agree with me, but he was still staring at the warrant. "Please, Matt. If nothing else, do it so I won't freak out over it along down the line."

He considered this for a moment. "I'll help you, but we're telling Arthur. He doesn't have to come. I just feel more comfortable with him knowing…"

I crossed my arms over my chest, but didn't object. "Hmm… does five work for you? And if you wouldn't mind…"

A small smile twitched at his lips. "I'll tell him for you, don't worry."

With respective thank yous, I went back to my office, mind reeling too fast about the positives of the situation to be too concerned with the more apparent negatives. I didn't know how long I sat there in my thoughts... I could have been working, I couldn't have been, it was superfluous. All I know is that sometime around two o clock I received another call on my cell phone. I vaguely recognized the number, but it wasn't saved in my contacts. Regardless, I answered it.

"Alfred Jones," I muttered, attempting to balance a pen on the tip of my nose to no avail. "What's up?"

"Ohmigawd," a flamboyant, but distinct voice came from the other end. Though the electronics of the phone ruined the effect somewhat, it was still painfully clear who it was. "You have no idea how long it took me to find your number! Especially since Liet doesn't leave a phone tree around like, anywhere. Not like I would be able to find it anyway, since he won't answer his phone. Tell me, what's the use of having a cell phone if you leave it off all the time?"

Feliks. Łukasiewicz. "Woah, slow down. What is it you need?"

"That dumbass Liet won't answer his phone," though I couldn't see his face, I could imagine a firm pout. "I've tried like, everything! And finally I got your number. I thought you might know something, because he obviously doesn't trust me enough." I must have taken too long to reply, when I really only thought it was a pause in his never ending word flow. "Oh, riddle me this, have you spoken to him lately? Like, at all?"

"Yes," I replied, to stop another one of his tangents. "I spoke to him earlier today, actually."

"Oh?" He replied, voice practically rising an octave from rage or excitement, I wasn't sure which. "Face to face? Through phone? Come on, I don't have all day. I just got off my flight and this... totally gross payphone runs out of minutes soon."

"Face to face," I answered. "Flight? Toris said you were in Poland."

"Yeah, was," I could practically hear the roll in his eyes. "Not anymore. I told him I was coming home for the weekend. Anyway, what all did he say?"

As much as this kid meant to Toris, I couldn't help but find myself a little hesitant to feed him information so freely. "He just wanted to check up, we haven't talked in a while."

He gave a rather loud snort. "Yeah, you aren't the only one. He hasn't called or written like, at all in the past month. Can't help but wonder if that bastard Russian has anything to do with it."

My heart gave a weak lurch. "I don't know... I mean, it's a possibility." If he hadn't told Feliks anything, what the hell did I expect? "If it makes you feel better, I work for the police..."

"Oh..." he trailed off. "Ew."

"And I'm going to investigate that very worry," I finished, with a light hiss.

"You are?" He questioned, pausing to yell at someone in the background. "Well, don't shut up about it! Where? When?"

As much as I was well aware legal jargon wouldn't phase him now that he was riled up, it wouldn't hurt to try. "That's err... confidential."

"Bullshit," I made the wise decision to pull my ear away from the receiver before he really started screaming. "Tell me! I have the right to know!"

"I know you do," I attempted to amend. "It's not that big of a deal, you can still see him. In fact, it'd be better if you could get to him as soon as possible."

"How am I supposed to know where the hell he is if he won't answer his phone?" He repeated, as if I were mentally retarded. "Why I called you, duh. A, what has he been hiding, and B, where is he? I know full well he isn't living alone."

"He's been pretty busy lately," I broached the subject hesitantly. "Which is why I think he hasn't spoken much..."

"And what has he been busy with?"

"Making new living arrangements until you were back."

"With..."

I took a deep breath, and dove in. "Ivan." A long, excruciating silence. Uncharacteristic, even. "Feliks?" Nothing. "Must have run out of time..." I closed my cell with the flick of a wrist, unsure if he had heard the last part or not. Either way, someone was getting screwed. And not in the good way, at that.

-------------------

After a while, Kirkland came in to drop off more paperwork, a largely unreadable expression on his features. As he turned on his heel to leave the office, he shot a curt message back my way.

"I won't interfere," he informed, like every word caused him physical pain. "But I'm driving the car."

"Why?" I shot back, leaning forward in my chair. He refused to turn around. "In case you've forgotten, I'm old enough to drive." Though it was accusatory by all means, I kept my tone intentionally teasing. I knew from experience nothing pissed him off more.

"Remember last time?" To my surprise, the teasing in his own voice quickly melted away to distain. "Where you ran into the lamppost? I don't have ADD, I'm driving the car. You'll just distract your brother."

My first instinct was to retaliate, and I did, of course, with faint mutterings and curses. But I had to remind myself that if I wanted Matt's help I had at least humor his requests. But that didn't mean I couldn't have a little fun. "Oh? What about the time you caused a three-way minor collision?"

"I was drunk," he muttered, turning around finally to send me a glare. "It was between fellow officers, we all had a laugh about it later."

"If by, had a laugh, you mean took it in the-" I taunted, but he cut me off with a few choice swear words and another firm reminder that he would be driving tonight. He stormed out of the room; face red from what was clearly both rage and embarrassment.

Really. It never got old.

-------------------

I had forgotten how windy the city could get in the mid-afternoon by the time I emerged from the building that day. Strands of my own blond hair whipped across my vision, the cold slicing through my clothing to the point where I had to unfold my trench coat from my arms, wrapping it tightly around my frame. Struggling to see, I managed to make my way to Arthur's squad car, Matthew a few paces behind me. The owner was already in the vehicle, fingers tapping against the inside window sill. Sunglasses obscured his gaze, but it was most probably dead set forward in a glare. I crawled into the front seat with a growl of protest from Arthur and a muffled sigh from my brother, and we were off. I gave them the best directions I could, though the GPS system (lucky bastard, of course Detective Kirkland has one.) picked up on it quite easily.

As the car sped forward, I became more and more aware of how nervous the whole ordeal was making me. My nails dug into the fabric of my black uniform slacks, my teeth unconsciously gritting together despite my best wishes. Wrong. It was beginning to feel that way, at least. I was betraying Toris' trust, someone who I could say with full assurance I never wanted to hurt as long as I lived. But that's what I was doing, wasn't I? There was a large chance I would just make things worse with my interference in his business. There was a chance, however slim, that he was being treated well. But there was still a part of my mind that convinced me I had to try. If I was careful, did everything right, asked the right questions and found the right evidence... I could save him from more of the hell he had so wrongfully endured for so many years. But if I wasn't able to do what was needed, if I left his house today without a single prize for my efforts, what would become of it? Would he hurt him for reaching out, even if it was just me filling in the blanks that were arguably even there? There wasn't even a guarantee I would be able to protect him in the event that did happen.

No. I couldn't let myself think like that. There was no way I would let myself fail on this.

We pulled up to the Braginski estate at five thirty, the sun nearly set against the horizon in the winter timing. Almost before I could fully get out of the car, Matthew's hand was in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You're shaking," he informed me, holding me in place for a moment while Arthur rolled up the windows he had cracked. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, willing my frame to still. "No, I'm fine, I swear."

"If you're sure," he frowned, clearly unconvinced. However, with an annoyed tap from Arthur, we were sent on the path to the front door. However, with an annoyed tap on the window from Arthur, we were set on the path to the front door.

The estate itself was disproportionately large for a house of normally only one; the three-story semi-mansion was covered with vines, intertwining from the front gate across the lawn to the top of the roof. The lawn was in surprisingly good care, a few stray weeds but nothing more. With the quickly dwindling sunlight, it was easier to tell hardly any lights were on.

I pressed my fingers against the metal of the gate, expecting it at least to put up a fight, if not flat-out locked. However, at my lightest touch, it swung forward, leaving a clear cobblestone pathway to the door. I pushed my way through some overgrown shrubs that lined the fencing, the heel of my boots making an eerie clicking noise throughout the night.

I must have been in a daze by the time I reached the door, for Matthew caught my attention with, "Ring the doorbell." I did as told. No answer, but I heard a distinct rustling from inside, however faint. With his affirmation, I tried for the doorknob, which just like the gate, opened on command. We stepped into a small, high-ceilinged room, potted plants against the beige wall. Beyond that was an arch, giving way to the living room and kitchen, with the same height. To the left, chairs surrounded a quickly diminishing fire, a blanket sprawled across the couch, creases against the leather fresh. To the right, a kitchen, complete with barstools and hanging lights. From the balcony above the staircase, the row of doors was all firmly closed, no lights under any of them. I took a step into the room, the silence crushing down on my mind. Out of nervousness, I pulled the gun from its holster, nodding for my brother to do the same. Besides the crackling of the fire and us, the entire house seemed devoid of movement all together.

"Toris?" I called, the sound echoing throughout the stone of the living room wall. I was not even vaguely surprised to be given no answer.

"There's no one here," Matthew muttered, biting his lip. "Shall we just, ah, come back another time?"

"No," I argued. There was no good reason no one would be home... many logical ones, surely, but none that I was willing to believe in. "Let me just look around."

He was none too quick to nod his agreement. Nonetheless, I took off for the staircase, spiraling up to the second story. Each door was easy enough to open, but they all gave away to uninteresting sights. Empty bathrooms, storage closets, spare bedrooms... All just as dark and desolate as the last.

I must have checked it over a good two times before Matthew finally had the bright idea to inspect the next floor. It was thankfully simpler than the previous landing; just two rooms. The first one I checked, on the left, was perhaps the creepiest so far. It was not only completely empty, but it was unfinished, the luxurious carpet of the rest of the house giving way to concrete, stained in various places. The walls were equally as bare, a crème white color that was clear even in the darkness. A sole window was in the far back, the view outside obscured by a tightly drawn black shade. Perhaps worse than the physical appearance was the air of severity... the silence that encompassed the whole estate seemed to double here. The air was thick, almost difficult to breathe in though it had no particular smell or toxicity. I hadn't even stepped a foot in and I was crushed by the weight of it all, the blankness just staring me down... waiting. Almost like an invitation; a dare. _Come inside_.

Unnerved, I closed the door as quickly as possible, shuffling to the last room. The master bedroom. I wanted to rip open the door, to get rid of the air of hostility I had just faced. But instead, I was slow, deliberate. Nearly afraid. The lock gave a soft click, the door swinging open. My heart was immediately put at ease with the familiar frame of Toris sprawled across the bed, appearing to be in a deep sleep.

Despite hushed protests from Matthew, I crept forward, finding myself at the edge of the Lithuanian's rather large bed. He was as close to the window as the space would allow, his chest rising up and down in jutted, but even patterns. It pained me to disturb him, but I couldn't forget what I had come here for. As carefully as possible, I drew the sheet off his frame, revealing his pale, bare back. I couldn't bring myself to look, but when I did, I had to bite my fist to keep from crying out. His old wounds were visible, muted pink with age. That wasn't unsettling; I had seen them before, worked long nights to heal them. What made me sick were the three new, deep lashes across his skin, a bright red. I knew it. But that didn't make it any less awful. The part of me that was his friend had to be suppressed, however. One look at my uniform was all I needed to be reminded this was strictly business. Now that I had seen it, I just needed to get him to talk. I gently shook his shoulder, causing him to stir. His eyes opened a slit, before they were wide as saucepans.

"Ivan!" He cried, shooting himself to a sitting position in a matter of seconds. His hands wildly groped the bed sheets before finding me, as they blindly clawed to pull me down.

"Shh," I pleaded, placing a hand over his. Yet, it did nothing to settle him. "Shh, Toris. It's just me. Alfred."

"Alfred," he repeated my name, hands falling limp. He turned to me, eyes burning with tears. He seemed to finally take in my appearance, for he was back into a panic before I could do anything about it. "Why are you here? Your uniform... I told you not to worry! W-Why... Where's Ivan?"

Not quite prepared to explain to him the rest of his questions, I addressed the last one. "I haven't seen him here, Toris. It's just us three."

"Who told you to come?" He pressed, hardly lucid. "If it was Feliks... he doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm fine, Alfred! I'm fine..." He took in my words, face becoming even more distorted with worry. "H-He's not here?"

"Not that I know of," I informed him, yet again. "Do you have any idea?"

He shook his head. "I-I... he said he wasn't going to leave today... Please don't do anything to him..."

I couldn't promise him anything on that front. "I don't know where he is, then, Toris."

"He has to be here," he was back to clinging at my wrists. I drew myself to my knees, pressing a hand to his face. "He wouldn't lie to me about anything like that... Please, Alfred. Help me find him."

I sent a glance to Matthew, who was looking more and more unsure about the whole situation by the minute. And that was saying a lot. However, he gave a weak smile, even though it faltered quickly.

"We'll look around the house, okay?" I helped him to his feet, waiting patiently while he got dressed. He was more on edge than usual; reaching out for me every time I got too far away. He was visibly shaking, even with the relatively temperature of the house. His eyes had not returned to normal, either. They were still wide, fearful. And even with the evidence on his back, (which he seemed to have not registered I had seen) I had to wonder... what exactly had happened to him? From the time I had last seen him to now, even, things had obviously gotten worse.

"We've checked every room," my brother reminded me after we had left the room, his eyes cast downward. "W-We got what we came here for, we shouldn't stretch things more... Arthur will get angry..."

"I'm aware," I shrugged, keeping my hold on Toris firm. "Still, I'd like to take legal action on this as soon as possible." Luckily for me, Toris was too out of it to register my words.

"If you say so," he agreed. "Just know, he's probably going to take it out on you, eh..."

"Nothing I'm not used to," I gave a sardonic smile. "Back to the matter at hand... we haven't checked the first floor very carefully."

"But wouldn't he have heard us come in?" He asked, brushing back his hair.

"You'd like to think so. But it's worth a check, at the very least."

We found ourselves back in the living room, peering down a hallway behind the staircase. It wasn't apparent from walking in the house the first time, not to mention I had been too eager to search the higher floors. It was lined with two more doors on one side, three pictures (of Ivan's sisters, I assumed) on the other. At the end was another corner, giving away to the exit way to the backyard.

I reached for the first doorknob, but Toris' voice stopped me dead in my tracks. "No."

"Hmm?" I asked, turning to him. There was a new determination in his eyes, though of course the fear was still painfully present.

"He doesn't let me go down there," he explained. "The basement. He doesn't go down there, either..."

I couldn't help myself from inquiring. "Why not?"

It was easy to tell from the way he squirmed that the simple answer he gave was not the real one. "It's unfinished."

"So is the room upstairs," I reminded him, trailing off near the end.

His face was almost a stark white by this point. "H-He... we don't go in there, either."

"We'll be fine," I said, giving him a reassuring smile. "I promise. I'll protect you if anything happens."

He slowly pushed my fingers away, opening the door. He flicked on the light switch to the left of the threshold, a bare light bulb in the staircase fluttering to life. It emitted a soft hum, illuminating the pathway. The stairs were concrete, but it appeared as if someone had made an attempt to paint them. Specks of white littered the gray of the steps and along the walls as well, though the job was far from perfect. At the bottom of the steps was a windowsill, from which I could see the green of the front lawn through a crack in the coverings. Unlike the room above the stairs, it was not giving off an eerie feeling in the least. It was just blank. Not average, but rather absolute nothingness. It was easier to deal with than the hostile environment above, at least. Yet, it was just as barren. Though I couldn't see around the corners, there was nothing in my immediate eye line; just more gray concrete with various white splotches.

I lead the way down the stairs, Matthew and Toris right behind. A moth fluttered around the light; a rarity for the season. I raised an eyebrow, but thought nothing of it. It appeared to be on its last legs as it was. As we reached the base, Matthew gently put his arm on my hand.

"Do you hear that?" He asked, taking a step to the left.

"Hear what?" I immediately replied, though as soon as I strained my hearing, I picked up on it. The sound of liquid falling rhythmically against metal. I followed my brother's footsteps, turning the corner left. Toris was back to violently shivering, so I took back his hand, leading him towards the origin.

It didn't take long for the source to be in my sight. The only other windowsill in the basement was dark red, all views of the outside world obscured by the color. Through a slit in the opening, blood was falling against the sill, slowed from the looks of it. The metal was already coated, fresh from the soft shine against the surface.

Before I could fully register what was happening, Toris was running back up the stairs at a full sprint. Matthew took after him, drawing his gun once again. I tried to follow immediately afterwards, but my feet were rooted to the ground. With the last ounce of sense I had, I picked up my pager.

"Requesting backup," I yelled, breath labored and furious. "Again, requesting immediate backup."

I heard the beginning of an affirmation, but I had turned it off and was up the stairs before they could even finish the first word. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there. The walls seemed to be closing around, the darkness swallowing up every ray of light in the room. I could hardly breathe, the air becoming thick and sticky, the stench of metallic overwhelming.

I reached the ground landing too slowly for my taste, looking around wildly for where the two would have gone. The door to the backyard lay ajar, the screen waving in the wind. I ran towards it, catching myself on the threshold to turn towards what I knew to be the window opening.

It took all I had not to throw up on the spot.

Toris was kneeled over, face obscured with his slouch. Matt stood at his side, talking in hushed whispers into his pager, though he was clearly panicked. But beyond that was another body face-up against the glass of the windowsill, bleeding heavily. I took cautious steps closer, the details blurred with my vision, but still clear as day.

The flesh had been ripped off the entire upper torso, the shirt of the body removed. Bones and muscles were clearly prominent, from the tips of both elbows to the base of his neck. Though his hair obscured his facial features, it was easy to tell immediately exactly who it was. Ivan Braginski.

I was too numb to even contemplate reacting at this point, though my chest was quickly constricting around itself, my breath again coming up short. My vision was completely blurred, hard to even make out colors from one another. In the haze, I almost missed police sirens, or Arthur's presence at my side. Or even a blonde man dragging Toris away from the body.

Soon enough, multiple policemen were appearing all around, ambulance workers loading up a stretcher. I hardly realized it, or even registered anything that was happening anymore. My thoughts had shut down.

One thing had caught my attention, though.

"Toris Lorinaitis, you're being arrested under suspicion of murder," someone's voice commanded, I assumed either Ludwig or Gilbert. A click of handcuffs. Shrill protests from Feliks. My own objections as my feet carried me towards the direction of the voice. Arthur's arms clamped around mine, holding me firmly in place, Matthew's hand against my shoulder.

The last thing I really remembered from that scene was Arthur guiding me back to the squad car in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

This is a shorter chapter than I intended... forgive me?

Woo! I might actually accomplish a weekly update schedule! I wouldn't count on it for very long, though, especially since I'm going to be in Felicianoland from March 9th through the 18th, and won't have very much time to write at all. So I'll try to get chapter three up by next week! But I doubt it will happen… /drowns in school work. I'm not overly fond of this chapter, since it's more of a bridging thing to Chapter Three. No Prussian antics, but I make up for it next time, along with a quasi-breather part. More cursing in this part than normal, and quite a bit of graphic descriptions as far as violence goes. Hang in there and enjoy!

* * *

It had taken three of my co-workers to sedate me, and at least five cups of coffee to draw me out of the trance I had slipped into afterwards. I lost track of time in my thoughts during the time in between, slumped over my desk with the images playing over and over in my head like a record player from hell. Matthew had stayed with me for a while, before a distraught Roderich called him out to work. In retrospect, Arthur was by my side for a time as well, trying to fruitless to draw me to attention. He had never seen me like that before. He, of course, was used to the never-ending source of energy that was my usual personality, a tireless fighter. As much as he hated me normally, he made it clear that he preferred it to the state I was in. Not his usual jabs, but the crease of mild worry in his expression that looked alien at best, wrong at worst. Then, eventually, and much sooner than my brother, gave up and returned to work. Kiku finally had the bright idea to bring me coffee, and after that, I was ready to work.

I took a few moments to pace my office after awaking, piecing together what the hell had exactly happened. It was hard to identify the details at the end of the ordeal. I was out of it by that point, in a figurative comatose induced by shock. I took the liberty of clearing my thoughts, which was a lot harder than it sounded, and drew out what I knew.

We had discovered the body at about seven, two and a half hours earlier. My co-workers had arrived roughly five to ten minutes later, and they had taken Toris under custody as soon as Matthew gave them a report. I wasn't about to blame it on him, of course. He had most likely insisted otherwise, but none of the station knew Toris like I did, and ignoring his personality, all the pieces seemed to fit. Only I really knew how he couldn't fake the kind of terror he was showing at not knowing where Ivan was. But I knew what the officials would say. Another reason to freak out. Another reason to hide the guilt.

I brought my fist down against my desk sharply, letting out a string of curses. I couldn't believe it... Toris. Toris Lorinaitis. Being blamed for murder. Why hadn't I done anything about it? I remembered screaming in objection to the accusation, but I must have seemed psychotic. Both Matthew and Arthur were holding me back, but it still must have not been enough, considering I vaguely remembered clawing at Gilbert, begging him to listen to me. He shrugged, pushing him into the car. I hadn't gotten a proper look at Toris' face, but I didn't even want to consider it.

Part of me had to have faith in the justice system... they had to find out that things didn't fit together as perfectly as they did at the surface, right? But it wasn't enough for me. How in the hell could it even come fucking close to being enough? I had said from the start that this was my case. Just because it had escalated didn't mean in the least that I would drop it. It only made it more personal, more enraging. It made it direr, the need for me to bring justice to this kid.

With one last punch against the desk for good measure, (If I hadn't, it surely would have been against someone's face.) I headed out the door, my steps already furious and determined.

"Where is he?" I demanded as I walked into Arthur's office, though my tone trailed out as he wasn't there. I spun on my heel, gritting my teeth. I was surprised I had enough sense to march my way into the interrogation rooms, and adjacent quarantine rooms.

"Let me in," someone's voice was commanding, rage in every layer. Of course, I knew it exactly who it was. That part of the story began to rush back to me... Feliks had been there. I don't know when he got there. Frankly, it was irrelevant at this point. But all I knew was that he had been just as angry about it as I, and judging from this scene, maybe even worse. "I need to see him!"

He was struggling to get past Vash, trying to push him out the way to gain entrance to a small, concrete room. I could see vague shadows moving about through the small window, but for the most part the two obscured it.

Vash, in return, was just as irate. "Goddamnit," he swore. As his hands were occupied with fighting off the other blonde, he let out a kick, hitting him squarely in the stomach. Feliks staggered backwards, but refused to let go for the life of him. "Get off, do you want me to shoot you? I fucking told you! We don't let civilians in! Want to visit him? Do it at the damn county jail! He's being transferred there tomorrow. Now get. the. hell. off!"

"Vash," I said, making my presence known. He looked up, eyes blazing. "Feliks, let go."

"No," my co-worker shot back, delivering another kick. "Tell him, you imbecile. Tell him that it isn't permitted!"

At that point, I really didn't care. "Move it, let me by." I drew a set of keys from my pocket, holding it up in a way I hoped looked menacing.

He didn't buy it. "Wait your turn. Gay boy is in there talking to him right now."

Roderich, naturally. "I don't care, let me through." I forcibly inserted myself in the small space between the frame and the keyhole, twisting it open before Vash could do a thing about it. In my attempts to push by, the door closed halfway on my chest.

"If he's going in, why can't I?" Feliks whined. "He's my best friend, I have a right to this!"

I gave a weak wheeze, and Vash reluctantly opened the door just enough to let me through. I gladly took my chance, sliding into the room. As the door closed behind me, all the noises of the outside world immediately ceasing to exist.

I adjusted my eyes to the moderate darkness, taking in the two other figures in the room. Toris sat in the corner, knees drawn to his chest. From what I could see of his expression, it was completely blank. His head didn't even shoot up when I entered. Roderich stood opposite him, closer to me for professionalism. His arms were crossed over his chest, back to me. From the silhouette of his face, his features were equally emotionless, but held a certain curt edge. He, of course, turned at my entry.

"Jones," he greeted unceremoniously, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Toris' attention was caught by my name, at least. I saw his eyes for a flicker of time, before they were buried back into his knees. His entire face was red, but in the brief moment I saw no tears. Just pure anguish. "We're in a meeting right now, if you mind."

"Isn't that a bit unfair?" I snapped, not in the mood for his aristocratic bullshit. "Interrogating someone before they even have an attorney? Just after the crime, too? At least leave him till the morning."

"I am not interrogating-" he started to object, but I cut him off.

"I don't care," I didn't mean to be so short, but I was on a one-track goal to speaking to Toris. Alone. "Let me talk to him." After a pause, I tacked on a please for good measure.

He waited in silence for a moment, before lightly brushing past me and heading out the door without a word. I had expected him to object more, but I was thankful he was neglecting his usual self-assurance for a moment. As he left, he sent a look back to Toris that was too soft to be a glare, but too hard to be anything else. Regardless, the meaning was clear. It wasn't over. For a moment as the door opened, I could still hear Vash and Feliks' argumentation, Roderich's voice joining the fray before silence encompassed us yet again.

It would be the kind of room you would expect to have a deep, unnerving echo, but my boots only made a soft clicking as they made their way to Toris. I crouched down, waiting patiently for him to once again acknowledge my presence.

Suddenly, he threw himself into me, bringing me to my knees. I relaxed immediately into his touch, wrapping him in my arms.

Though it was difficult to hear his muffled words, his sentence was easy to make out. "It wasn't me."

"Idiot," I muttered. "You think I don't know that?"

He gave a weak start of a sentence, but I cut him off with a plea of silence. He obliged, falling limp. I ran my fingers through his hair, drawing him tighter to my chest. We sat like that for what felt like hours, but was really only naught but a few minutes before I spoke up again.

"I'll get this straightened out," I promised, drawing away so I could look him in the eye. I had been wrong before; he had been crying, but he was making damn good attempts at covering it up. He broke away from my gaze, staring at the floor. I took his chin in my hands, gently forcing him to look my way. I gave a smile, willing it not to falter. "I swear to God, Toris. You will not be punished for this. I'll see to it, please believe me. I won't rest until I find who did this."

"Alfred..." he began, trailing off. Silence. When he finally spoke again, his tone was clear objection, but it soon withered away to an ashamed whisper. "You don't have to this. You have better things to worry about. What's the worst that could happen to me?" He gave a small laugh, but absolutely no humor was present.

I furrowed my brow. "Toris, don't be like this. I absolutely mean it. I'll do whatever I can." He began to speak again, but I didn't put enough pause in between my words. "Sure, sure, eventually they might see that there was no way it could have been you. But I'm not willing to take that risk. It would take to long, and the things you would go through until that point... I have to do this."

He broke away from my hold, back to burying his head in my chest. His frame gave a lurch, the sign of a dry sob. It had been two hours... there was no telling what all had happened to him between that time. What sort of things he had thought. What sort of things he had done from the time he was dropped off and all had cleared out until Roderich came in, then me. What even he had still held in, despite this. If I gave him enough time, no telling what would come crashing down.

"I didn't want this to happen to him," he sighed, twisting the fabric of my shirt in his fingers with surprising force. "I-I-I had... thought awful things... I regret it so much. I never wanted them to become reality!"

"I know," I assured.

He continued as if I had said nothing. "I swear it, Alfred! I had came home from talking to you... he could tell I was tired. He told me to get some rest, that he had nothing to do and would be around all day. He kissed my forehead before I went to sleep... I heard some noises while I was still awake, but I thought nothing of it. Just him working downstairs, is what I assumed. If I had known..." He choked on another sob, coughing in a failed attempt to mask it. "The next thing I know, you're waking me up. "

"Did you see anyone besides Ivan, Matt, and I?" I didn't come in there to ask questions, but I couldn't help it from slipping up.

He shook his head wildly, his breath a pained shudder. "Nothing. Please believe me."

"I do. You know I do."

"Thank you," he closed his eyes for a brief moment, and I was overcome with a wave of guilt. My entire goal was to get him away from Ivan. It had worked, but not in the way I intended. Never in the way I intended. Sure, I had wished him dead a time or two, but... If I had known it would cause this. Still, what I was going to do would be redemption. A way to save Toris once and for all. It had to pay off in the end. "Really, Alfred. So much. You don't know how much... You don't have to..."

I pressed my index finger to his lips. "It's fine, Toris. It really is. Hang in there. You won't be here for long."

"Yeah," he gave a shrug, his eyes reopening. "County jail in the morning, or so I've been told. Until I get a trial."

"You know what I mean."

"Also, Alfred?" He asked. I turned to show my attention. "Feliks... he was there. Where is he now?"

Despite myself, I smiled. That was one request I could tend to immediately. With the knowledge I would be right back, I pried him from my arms, making my way to the door to look out the window. No one. I frowned, opening the door just a crack to look down the hallway. The two interrogators were dragging the Pole down to the lobby, him kicking and screaming all the way while the officers fought over his head.

"Roderich! Vash!" I called, their paths stopping to turn. "Let me talk to Feliks for a minute."

"Hell no," Vash responded. "We're formally removing him, as you can so clearly see, Sherlock."

"Just to get some basic information," I searched desperately for reasons. "Profiling, so we can ask questions later."

"Five minutes," Roderich replied with some reluctance. Vash started to argue, but they had already let go before it could turn into an all-out war. (As was everything with those two.) Before I could blink, Feliks was virtually in my lap.

"You'll let me in," he begged. "Please, this isn't like, a request."

"Don't tell anyone," I stressed, hoping to every deity I knew (which, admittedly, weren't a lot) that he wouldn't infringe on this. "Make this quick and don't mention ever again."

"Whatever," he snapped, which was more or less his way of agreeing. I stepped aside, allowing him to enter the room.

He immediately swept Toris in an embrace, pulling them together for a passionate kiss. I saw Toris' eyes widen for a moment, before the closed, peaceful for the first time that day. I could tell he wanted to press closer, but due to the handcuffs, he stood in his arms in a way that's not quite awkward, but not quite natural either.

After a while, Toris broke away, giving Feliks the opportunity to talk. "Fuck, Toris," he hissed, face flushed. "This is so messed up. These people don't know anything! They wouldn't listen to a thing I..."

Before he could continue, Toris pressed a hand to the blond's cheek, managing to insert his way into the conversation. "Feliks, it's okay."

"It's not," he cried. "What proof do they have? What gives them the right to come up and say it was you? Do you have any idea what it's going to be like for me if they find you guilty? The rest of your life in prison, my life alone? Screw it! I totally refuse!"

"There will be a way," he said, though I couldn't tell from his tone if he actually believed it or not. "There has to be..."

"You're going to leave it their hands?" He demanded, throwing his arms out. "No. You have to find a way to prove there was no way you could…."

"We're working on it," he muttered. "Trust me, Feliks."

He looked none too ready to do that. "I..."

I looked out into the hallway, seeing that Vash had reappeared. He stood in near the end, tapping his wrist impatiently.

As much as it pained me to say it, I had to break it up. "Feliks..."

He sent me a glare, but kissed the Lithuanian on the lips once more, before heading down the hallway in a huff.

Toris looked after him, a soft, "I love you," on his lips. He sunk back to the wall, back to his previous position with his knees to his chest.

I had to tear my gaze away. "Remember my promise."

Closing the door, I thought I might have heard a faint, "I will," but I couldn't have been sure. As soon as I turned around, I was face to face with Arthur.

"Finally back to being an imbecile, I see," he remarked dryly, seeming to be in a hurry.

"Where are you going?" I asked, following him down to the lobby, his breath a huff.

"What do you think?" He snorted, one of the other doors in the hallway swinging open, Matthew emerging empty-handed, save for a clipboard. He quickly flew to Arthur's side, in the middle of writing down some notes. "I work for the CSI department, you dolt. Of course there's work at this case to be done."

"I'm coming," I matched their gait.

"The hell you are," he shot back, walking faster. "You were a breathing zombie an hour ago, now you want to willingly to back there? Forget it. Matthew and I have it covered. Go home."

"This is just as much my business as it is yours," I argued, turning to Matt for help.

"If you're sure," my brother frowned. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes, and I'll be fine."

"Oh, whatever," Arthur growled. "You can come along. But don't ruin anything, and most of all, don't talk to me."

Well, now that he mentioned it… nothing wrong with a little fun as long as I was making progress. Though even as I was speaking, a voice in my head was nagging, _you shouldn't even be beginning to have fun with this. _But I had to have a way to keep myself sane. "So, Arthur…"

"Just shut up," he hissed. "I'm letting you come, isn't that enough?"

"Stop being such a bitter old man," I replied. "We have work to do."

Matthew sighed. I knew full well he had given up on trying to keep us from fighting. "Uhm, Inspector Kirkland," he said formally, despite knowing him as well as I, if not better. "Run over the plan again, if you will."

"I've already been there," he explained. "Drove your brother away, then went back to take notes on the body before Kiku and Berwlad took it away for forensic inspection. I was really only here to get supplies, but I got, ah, held up. Figured you should have a say in it, at least. Though it was never my intention to take someone half-dead." He sent me a completely conspicuous glance. "There's going to be more evidence at the scene."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, for the love of..." he rolled his eyes. "For Christ stakes, Alfred. Do you honestly think any of us believe he's actually guilty?"

Despite myself, I let out a sigh of relief. As much as I wanted to be the only here, I had a better chance of succeeding if I had others on my side. A smile swept across my face, the bittersweet edge of before almost completely gone. Matthew's mood seemed to brighten as well, though Arthur looked relatively unperturbed. I might have seen his eyes soften, if only in slight.

It was a bit unnerving, driving around, inspecting a murder case in practically the middle of the night. In all logic and sanity, I should have been much more somber than I was. But I had a goal in my mind, and once I had that I would stop and nothing to see it through. By the time we were outside, a light drizzle of rain had begun to fall, the humidity becoming thick in the air.

Matthew drove, with Arthur in the front, furiously writing on his own clipboard. Which of course, left me to the back, as always.

"I don't like this at all," Arthur muttered at a red light, staring at the GPS. "Can tell I'm not getting any sleep tonight… Something about this just feels wrong."

"Then why are you here?" I snapped, before I could stop myself.

From the small view of his face in the mirror, he gave a sneer that fell immediately. "It's my job, of course. This badge makes me promise justice. Though Gilbert seems to find adequate evidence, and certainly, its there, no one else is satisfied. It doesn't matter what the public things, they'll believe it either way. No… I'm doing this because it's my duty. What's your reason? You want to be the one to save the day from injustice?"

I thought about this. "Yes."

He snorted, returning to his notes. I sat in the quiet of the car, contemplating his words. I couldn't tell the difference between his reasoning and mine, really.

We pulled up to the drive of the house at eleven thirty that night, the darkness making it all the creepier. Someone had died here. It was just staring to sink in. The moon shone across the building, illuminating the grass and cement below, glistening the damp fence. It was a beautiful property, there was no doubting it, but there was nothing beautiful about what it meant. I felt a bit stupid drawing my hand around my gun as I got out of the car, though it was an unconscious motion and I stopped immediately.

The three of us stood somewhat awkwardly at the gates, before I pushed it open, swallowing my fear to lead the way. I flicked on my pocket flashlight though the visibility was fine. I was under the assumption that it would help to have some extra light, though as I let it float from corner to corner, it just made things all the worse. I didn't want to see. I wanted to know, of course, but not take in the images again. There was no choice.

Without saying anything, Matt and I headed for the yard, while Arthur set towards the house.

"Be careful," Matthew called over his shoulder, and Arthur gave him a reassuring nod. However, when I told him not to get himself killed, he set his lips in a hard line and marched into the entryway. My brother turned on his radio, the crackling of Arthur's steps barely visible from where he was holding the device.

I was shaking, but all the same I lead him to the backyard, each step I made a dull thud against the grass. No bugs or other forms of life were heard; it was just us in this place now. Caution tape lined the entire backyard, like it had the front, and it was especially dense around the windowsill to the basement. I shone the light in the direction, trying to keep the ray steady. The sight never failed to make me sick. Though the body was long removed, the scene itself was still perfectly preserved, and I had a feeling it would be until the news got a hold of the case. Only then would someone take the liberty of cleaning off the blood that showered the side of the house and the Plexiglas on the ground. Even in the darkness, large sections of grass were much darker than others. Out of the corner of my eye, Matthew was furiously jotting down notes, slowly but steadily creeping forward towards the scene.

"Strange," he remarked, stopping just outside the caution tape. His words were seeming to cause him pain, the truth and severity of the crime weighing as hard on his him as me. "You know how the... flesh was," he paused. "Uhm, ripped off?"

"Yes..." I replied, moving to his side.

"Well," he began, pushing past the tape and drawing himself to his knees. "From the photos taken," he shuffled through his clipboard again, swallowing. He drew out a black and white photograph, Polaroid and tiny. I took it from him, scanning the contents. The section of the body that it showed was the torso, or what was left of it. From the gashes in the skin, it appeared that it had been either human nails or a knife not made for cutting meat. The depth of the wounds was uneven and spontaneous, though upon close examination there were still random bits of flesh clinging to the bones. I had to will myself to steady it. I could hardly see the picture in it entirety from shaking. "Wouldn't you think there would be at least some traces of human flesh around the scene?"

I gave a dismissing hand gesture to show I knew what he meant, and handed back the photograph. "What'd everyone find?"

He flipped to a new page of notes, obviously too neat to be in his handwriting. "It says... 'Crime scene is unusually clean, save for the blood. Flesh appeared to be painstakingly ripped off, no traces of shards of human skin anywhere to be found. The pattern of blood on the walls and floor does not appear to match the technique the wounds appeared to be created by. Taking back to the lab to make sure it is in fact his blood.' From Yao's notes." He looked up at me, face noticeably white in contract to the black backdrop. Mine must have been as well.

It was hard to process all of it, to say the least. The crime within itself was horrific to think about, let alone investigate like we had no personal connection to it. Matthew and I had vaguely known Ivan since childhood, though we were never what you'd call friends even in the broadest sense. As the picture burned in my mind, it all seemed surreal. Like it wasn't really happening. That I would wake up in the morning and find out it was all a dream. Yet one sentence reminded me of its reality. _This is your job._

Yes, it was my job. And it hurt like hell.

"Odd..." I remarked, and he immediately began writing down my words. "Was there any other damage done to the body?"

He got out some more photographs, spreading them out like a hand of cards. His eyes flew to each one before giving them to me with a small shrug. He wiped furiously at his eyes, choking down on his thoughts yet again. I found myself pretending to rub at my nose. We both realized we had to stay strong for this. I let my gaze back to the evidence, scanning each one. It showed each section of the corpse, from feet to head.

Ivan had his trademark boots on, which hid any skin that might have been damaged. (Though surely forensics was back fixing that problem as we stood there.) His tan pants fell at his hips, and from that up he was bare. I switched the photo. The lower part of his torso was completely unscarred; if not remarkably pale, as were his arms from fingertip to elbow. This was all, of course, save for the blood pouring from the large wound. His heart was completely covered, but from there on up it was torn to the base of his neck, down his shoulders and elbow. Just as I had originally observed. I couldn't find anything else wrong with him. His eyes were closed peacefully, as if he had been sleeping...

"Nothing," I agreed, giving a shrug of my own. Another bout of awkward of silence.

Matthew turned up his radio, paging Arthur. I took the chance to look around, paranoia arising in my skin. The shadows seemed to move, stalking our investigation. I shook my head, yelling at myself mentally. _If you psych yourself out, it's only going to be worse._

Instead, I gave myself a mental pep talk, in which I referred to myself as Sherlock Jones, and Matthew and Arthur collectively were 'Watson'.

Arthur's static-ridden voice drew me out of my trance. "I'm at the third floor."

I took the radio from my brother's hand. "Check out the room not at the end of the hallway," I ordered, staring up at top windows, all darkened. "It's pretty creepy, maybe we'll find something there."

His steps on the other end of the radio slowed. "Yeah, yeah. What have you found?"

"A bunch of confusing shit," I sighed, leaning against the non-bloodstained section of the house. "We're looking around, and the blood doesn't seem to uh, match the wound."

"Get a better feel of the surrounding ground," he commanded. "And I'll look around the damn room, though I don't see why..."

"Page me if you find anything."

"Wait!" He almost yelled, just as I was about to put down the pager. "Stay on the line."

I smirked, the fact that I was just as scared, if not more so, slipping my mind.

I heard a soft click as he opened the door. "You're right..." He muttered, with another tap against the concrete of the room. I could envision it in my mind perfectly, but I would rather not. Instead, I just imagined him, scared out of his mind.

"Notice anything out of the ordinary?" Matt asked, pressing his face next to mine to speak into the device as well.

"No," is what I think he started to say, but his words were interrupted by a loud screech, like a car slamming on its breaks. It was interrupted only for bursts of static. I drew the device away immediately, but the sound was loud enough to fill the entire yard with its awful song.

"Arthur?" I demanded. "Arthur?"

The screeching came to a halt, the static taking over with a rhythm not unlike the ticking of a clock. Just like that, it stopped, and nothing was heard except for Matt's labored breath matching mine.

Matthew pressed a hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath. "What was that?"

"No clue," I almost whined, wiping strands of hair out of my face. I drew the radio closer to my lips. "Arthur?"

Nothing.

That's when I really started to panic. I groped out into the darkness, finding a hold on Matt's wrist. I took off in a run, half-dragging him behind me as I jerked open the back door, into the pitch black of the house. We passed the door to the basement, still ajar, though I paid no attention to it. The only thing my mind was getting to that room. When I got to the staircase, I dropped Matt's arm, knowing he would follow me even as I took the stairs two at a time. The entire house was a blur around me, shapes and colors rather than real objects. I found myself on the landing what felt like a century later, sprinting towards the first room, Matthew's last steps up the stairs barely heard between the own pounding of my heart in my ears.

I skidded to a halt in front of the open door, focusing my vision.

My boss lay in the middle of the room, furiously clutching his right arm, bleeding from a deep gash that spanned the entire length. The blood stained the concrete, and he was struggling to regain his footing.

Ignoring the atmosphere, which had gotten worse in ten-fold since my last visit, I rushed to his side.

"Who did this?" I demanded, helping him to his feet. His entire frame was violently shaking, the wound continuing to bleed despite his best efforts. It was difficult on both our parts to get him to stand, and even then I had to support his full weight to keep him from falling over again.

"Don't interrogate me," he snapped, and oddly enough I as not surprised in the least to find that he still had the energy to antagonize me. He staggered, a loud splash against the cement as a result, his red hand unclenching against his arm for a brief moment. He swore under his breath. "Just get me a fucking doctor!"

Matthew was already on it, pressing his phone to his ear while he wiped at his eyes behind his glasses. I turned to Arthur again, trying to keep my eyes away from the wound. Instead, I focused on his expression, which was an even worse idea. His large eyebrows were knit in an expression of agony, his defiance slipping by the moment. His eyes met mine, lingering there with unusual softness, like he didn't know he was really looking at me. I took the opportunity to loop my arm around his, my hand resting on his bloodstained shoulder. His eyes widened, but incoherent muttering was all he could get out. I thought that leaving the room would lighten the atmosphere, but it didn't let up at all. I hated turning my back to it, like something was staring at me, burring into my soul. Though I didn't want to press Arthur for questions, I still desired an answer. We weren't the only people in this house anymore, that much was clear, and it would better to stay and look into it. My eyes flew to Arthur's belt to see if his gun had been removed, but it was still tightly in its holder. It had happened so quickly he didn't have time to attempt to stop it.

The heroic thing to do would just let Matthew take him out until the ambulance arrived, but I didn't want to leave him just yet. I needed to make sure he was safe before we faced whatever adversary we were up against.

I didn't have time to humor the thought for very long, however, before we were out of the house. I allowed Arthur to sit down on the porch steps, his legs practically collapsing beneath him. Matt locked the door behind us while I took a seat next to him, dropping his arm. By this point it was clear to see it was a struggle for him just to remain consciousness. My brother sat down beside us, taking off his jacket to wrap around Arthur's arm. Sirens sounded in the distance.

We sat there in silence, and though I wanted to say more, uncharacteristically, I didn't. I hadn't even noticed I had his hand in mine until he was loaded into the stretcher, and one of the workers kindly told me to let go. Ashamed, I did as told, and Matthew and I called for backup for the second time that day. I expressed my urges to go back inside, but we waited painstakingly until the others arrived.

Ludwig and Gilbert had been the first to arrive, yet again. Matthew explained the situation to Ludwig, Gilbert had already gone in with his gun drawn before the briefing. (Even I could tell that was a stupid ass move.) I expected to hear screams within minutes, but the only sound was the rain and Matthew's broken voice as he tried to remain calm. After he was done, he followed in Gilbert's footsteps. I attempted to go in right after, but Ludwig held me back as others rushed to the scene.

"You can go home, detective," he said, voice lower than normal. "It's been a long enough day for you, just go. We can deal with it."

"The hell I will," I hadn't meant to be so rude to my superior, but I wouldn't be held back from this.

"This is not a negotiable topic," he pressed, briefly giving several other officers the okay to enter.

"It's my case," I retorted, with the first thing that came to mind. I didn't realize how completely stupid it sounded at the time.

"No," he shook his head, in a way that showed the conversation was over. "This is has become much bigger than you, detective." I tried to push past him towards the door, but he held me back with a firm hand. I began a string of furious arguments, but he killed them all with the next sentence. "How much use will you be when you're near to collapsing from exhaustion?"

I paused in my efforts, hands falling to my sides. "Can I at least check on Arthur?"

"He'll still be there in the morning," was all he said on the matter. He took my momentary pause as my agreement, and drew out a universal squad car key from his pocket, handing it to me. "I don't mind," he said. "As long as you turn it in first thing tomorrow, got it?" He patted my shoulder somewhat awkwardly. Turning, on his heel, heading into the building as well. Save for the forces waiting outside in the event the perpetrator got out, I was alone.

Which gave me full reason to scream obscenities. "God dammnit!" I pressed a hand to my face, gritting my teeth. Ungratefully, I stomped away to the squad car Matthew had driven in, putting the key in the ignition. I sat there for a few minutes, gripping the steering wheel with all I had until my knuckles were a pure white. I wanted to turn back, more than I could possibly comprehend myself. I needed to stay, to catch whomever it was.

I threw it in drive nonetheless, my entire body overthrown with emotion I was trying to suppress. I had only just realized how exhausted I really was, finding it a challenge to keep my eyes and thoughts on the road. My apartment complex loomed into view after a good while, and I threw it quickly as possible in the small amount of space they allowed for parking. I could barely haul my ass up the stairs to my door, the process of opening it unnecessarily difficult. As soon as I had fallen into the bed, I buried my head into the pillow and stayed like that.

Sleep came unusually easily, along with my trademark what the fuck-inducing dreams. I couldn't make out a single bit of it for the first part I was asleep, at least. I got a call on my cell phone at four in the morning, but I couldn't be bothered with it.

I turned it off completely, and went back to sleep until dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

Ugh, I am so sorry this is so late! I didn't update before I left Italy, and then I sort of, er, crashed once I got back. I blame the airplane for making me completely deaf in both ears for five days. And I feel bad, because this chapter is both shorter than usual, AND it's pretty much all exposition. Remember how I said last chapter was the connecting chapter? I lied. This one is. However, there's a fair amount of Prussia, so I hope that ah, counts for something? I'm not happy with the way this turned out at all, especially since I'm sure it turns out more questions than answers. But they will be answered! Eventually. Not much action, either, until the last few paragraphs. I hope it tides you over until I can write something better.

* * *

For some reason, hospitals have always been unnerving. Of course, I fully supported the work they were doing, but the overwhelming stench of blood poorly masked by medicine never failed to worry me. It was the smell of hope, yet it was also uncannily similar to death. And my mind was already reeling over the (admittedly improbable) possibilities of the former.

I had arrived there as early as my sanity and hours would allow. I woke around fire thirty in the morning, far more disheveled than rested. The house was surprisingly empty, meaning Matthew had pulled an all-nighter at the station. I gave an overdramatic groan, groping blindly for my glasses on the nightstand, the world becoming much clearer. With a look out the window, the rain was still pouring down as heavily as the night before. I took a brief shower, cold, getting dressed in semi-casual clothes rather than my uniform. I still had the keys for the cruised on my headboard. I would return them by seven, I promised myself. But I had other things to do. I threw them in my jeans pocket along with my wallet and cell, making my way down to the parking lot. As our actual car was still at the station, I had to make due.

It was only slightly awkward driving a police car in jeans and a sweatshirt.

The workers in the emergency waiting room gave me a variety of strange looks as I entered, overall appearance nothing short of a total mess. Despite my exhaustion and stress, I smiled, hoping it looked convincing. From my wallet, I drew out my police ID, waving it in front of the receptionist's face.

"Detective Alfred F. Jones," I explained. She nodded evenly, an unsure look in her eye. "Here to see Arthur Kirkland, official business." I might have been lying through my teeth, but when I returned to the station I had a feeling any information on what happened to him would prove invaluable. It had been his injury that potentially ignited the next wave of this investigation, and the knowledge of the perpetrator could prove Toris' innocence. But for the moment, I had much different intentions. I needed to make sure he was fine before I could move on to the business side of things. Then I would get back on track, sanity be damned.

"Ah, yes, Kirkland," the receptionist said, her gaze switching from the badge and picture ID to my face. She seemed to be at least somewhat satisfied. "Yes, he's currently being held in room 501. West wing."

I was halfway towards the hallway she vaguely gestured at when her voice caught me again. "It's a bit early in the morning for visitors. You might not be able to get in, even if you are with the police."

"It's fine," I dismissed, honestly without a shroud of doubt I would be bale to see him. Not that I was particularly prepared in the case that I wasn't let in, only that I _had_ to be.

With the early hours of the morning, only a few people were mulling about the hallways, each doctor with their head buried in a pile of paperwork, flipping through each sheet at lightning speed. I scanned each number, finding 501 halfway down the hallway, which might have just as well stretched on for miles. I knocked on the door with more force than was probably necessary, but at least it was heard. A nurse opened the door a crack a few moments later, giving me a small smile. I flashed my badge, and without a word, she let me by. I thanked her with a nod, pushing into the room.

It wasn't very spacious, just the necessary medical equipment, the cot, and two chairs off to the side. The nurse was the only worker in the room, which left only Arthur and I. As my eyes fell upon the cot and my cautious footsteps echoed across the tile, he didn't even look up. He was half-awake at best, his entire arm heavily bandaged, tinged pink beneath the white. He was turned away from me, chest rising up and down steadily. I hadn't realized how tense I was until my muscles went lose at his breath, my entire posture falling to a comfortable position. I picked up one of the chairs, placing it at his bedside.

"I trust this is confidential?" The nurse asked, heavily manicured hand poised on the door.

Not so much confidential as personal, but I couldn't quite see the difference. "Yeah."

Without another word, she was out the door, leaving us alone.

I hated to even think about waking him up. As silently as possible, I moved to the other side of the bed to see his face. He looked as peaceful as I had ever seen him. I knew the calm side of him existed, of course, I had seen it all the time so many years ago. But the shrillness he had adapted whenever near me in the past few years caused me to almost forget it. His large eyebrows were no longer knitted in fury or embarrassment, but neutral, almost serene, if not a bit pained. I had to wonder just what kind of medication they had drugged him up on to get this kind of result. The ticking of the wall clock matched his steady breathing, and it should have been all I needed as reassurance, but it wasn't.

Nervously, I placed my hand on his shoulder, giving it a light shake. His eyelids fluttered before opening all the way, blank of emotion. A semblance of a smile creased his features as he took in the sight of me.

Now I was really wondering what kind of miracle drugs he was on, because this was not natural. A large pause came before I finally said the only thing I could think to. "Still alive, huh?"

The smile morphed into a smirk. "Takes more than a knife wound to kill me, idiot." And apparently those drugs weren't that strong after all. But it didn't stop me from feeling beyond relieved. I had told him to go into the room in the first place, if anything major had happened... I slowly removed a hand from his shoulder, placing both in my lap. "See you dressed up today," he remarked dryly.

"A hero's always fashionable," I replied in an overdone cheesy manner, but it soon faltered.

"About your question," he muttered, pulling himself up with his good arm to a sitting position. "I don't know."

"Huh?" I brought my chair closer. "What question?"

"Don't tell me you forgot," it was obviously meant to be insult, but in the haze of the hour and his injury, I could tell he was holding back. "About who did this to me, I don't know." My lack of reply seemed to translating as not understanding. "I can't make it any clearer!"

"Not what I'm here for, anyway," I shrugged. "To get answers."

That sent him over the edge, "Why the hell are you here, then?" He demanded. "You should be at work, not wasting your time here. I'm alive! Exciting, isn't it? Now go."

"To talk to you," I said simply. "I wanted to see you last night but I couldn't. I didn't know what happened, what condition you were in or whatever, and visiting you was the first thing that I needed to do. More than continuing the investigation. " I ran my fingers through my hair, shaking my head. "I'm going to use this for the investigation too, okay? So chill. I've got it under control.

"If it helps you sleep at night, tell me what you know, as a friend." I raised my voice before he could scoff at my word choice. "And if you want to get worked up over it, I'll tell the others, because otherwise it would be withholding information from the police. Brilliant, aren't I?" I flashed him a smile, but my face soon went back to a neutral expression. "But for now, we're not on the clock, right? A hero never rests, but the badge does. So say for a moment I'm not an officer, and just talk to me."

"You're being cheesy, and making no sense. Do you want me to tell you what I know, or not?"

I waited a moment before I said, "Tell me everything."

"The radio gave out," he explained. "As soon as I entered the room, I lost all reception but I didn't panic. But as soon as the signal was lost…" He seemed to be struggling, like his memory was somewhere far away. I waited for him to continue. "I remember what the room looked like, and what I set out to do. Blank, but it seemed to have a history. It was unnerving, yet I was curious about what happened to give it that feeling of such strong oppression."

Well, he had to get fancy about things. All I picked up on was the fact that the room was fucking creepy.

I must have had a strange look on my face, for he elaborated. "I have experience in the occult. I believe I pressed my hand to the wall, which must have been an idiotic move. I blanked out. The next thing I know, I have a gash down my arm, a knife's on the floor, and you're being an incoherent idiot."

_Sounds like the summer of ninth grade, minus all the blood. _I reminded myself to be serious, andsoaked in his words. "There was a knife on the floor?"

"You were too busy freaking out to notice," he gave a half-hearted roll of the eyes. "But yes, there was. Right next to me. I heard it crash to the floor, so it had to either be suspended or in my own hands…"

"Do you remember anything after you tried your weird magic thing?"

The British accent was seeping back into his voice. "Don't call it that! There's a reason I'm so good at detective work, Jones. If an area has negative or otherwise 'telling', so to speak, energy, I can pick up on it. I can see the history with a simple touch. I tried around the rest of the house, of course, but all I got were flashes of stories I couldn't make out. But it was everywhere in the upstairs room, I could practically see… I was drawn to a specific area, along the right wall. It was already overwhelming, which was why I asked you to stay on the line. As soon as I touched it… I don't remember anything, as I think I've clearly informed you."

"How do you know you didn't pass out?" I pressed, my curiosity growing by the minute.

"It's not so much deduction as common sense," he snapped. "The entire place was concrete. I would have woken up with a concussion or at best major head pain. I wouldn't have come to in the middle of the room, either. See how it all fits together, Sherlock?" He sent me a knowing glance on the last word. "Yes, you talk to yourself, and yes, the radio picks it up. Really annoying. Now it's my turn to ask the questions, because I have the distinct feeling that I need answers just as much as you. What did you last hear from me on the radio?"

"Hell," I said, as truthful as possible. "Screeching and static. The ticking of a clock, then nothing. Why?"

He shook his head at the stupidity he seemed to find in my question. "Multiple reasons. Because my pager was turned off by the time I cared to check it. I want to know if I said anything. Told you anything."

"Not that I know of. I'll have to check with Matt, though," I leaned back in my chair, resting my head against the cool wall of the ward. I fished around in my jeans pockets, finding my cell phone, still turned off from last night. I held down the on button, tapping my foot against the bedside absentmindedly while I waited.

"Could you stop that?" He demanded. I continued tapping.

The main screen of my PDA flashed for about two seconds before I was bombarded with text messages and voice mails alike. I moved to text messages first, figuring it would be better than hearing someone's shrill voice demanding that I pick up my phone. I opened the first one that came up.

'I know you're probably asleep right now, and you should be, but if you get this, please, please text me back. - Matt.'

I flipped to the next. 'Stole maple boy's phone while he whined to West. He doesn't have your address on this thing, but if he did, your ass would be up by now. Signed, the Everlasting Awesome, Gilbert. PS: Your brother's hot. You sure you're related?'

Despite the fact that whatever was happening was probably very serious, I had absolutely no idea whether to laugh or be frightened with that one. With a bemused shake of the head, I moved on. All the rest (all five of them) were from Matt, and they were more or less semi-creative variations of the same message. I needed to be at the station right now.

Surprisingly, there was only one voice message, from a number I didn't recognize. Nevertheless, I placed the phone to my ear, despite Arthur's questioning.

"Good morning, Detective," Ludwig's unusually deep voice rang. Ah. I really needed to save his number... "Yes, and I mean morning. It's two AM, two thirty four if you would like to be precise. My orders were clear and they stand now, and I don't expect you to come out if you do get this before dawn. But I think it would be fair if you came into work knowing exactly what was going on. Your fellow officers searched the estate and all surrounding property long and hard, to find no one. Moreover, the room in which Inspector Kirkland was injured was completely lacking evidence, save for a knife." He took a pause in his words, long enough for me to put the phone on speaker. Arthur at least deserved to hear this. "After a brief fingerprinting, no one's hands seemed to touch it but his own. It was a simple paring knife, hardly capable to cut flesh deeper than a small cut, let alone what happened to him. It appeared to be brand new, at that. This is not out ruling the possibility that it was some one else, of course, that is our first guess. It can be simple to evade a simple fingerprint scan if you have the correct means, considering the prints themselves can very easily be burnt off. We're running new tests as we speak.

"Upon a search of the interior, we believe we may have found the weapon used for the initial murder. In a false decorative door of the bedside stand, nearest the window. Someone had gone to the trouble of closing off the drawer to make it appear as if it could not be opened, but the smell of blood went unmasked. For reference, it was the same type as the knife used on the Inspector, but more aged. It seemed to have been cleaned, but shoddily so. In a hurry, if you will. We're running tests on that as well. Due to the complete lack of evidence everywhere else in the house, we are not ruling out or completely considering the possibility of a red haring.

"You seem to have taken a special interest in Lorinaitis. I will assure you there is no possible way he can be blamed for the incident involving the Inspector, as he has been in our custody the entire time. Each suspect is innocent until proven guilty, of course, but we cannot release him due to lack of evidence because there is a relatively large amount. Ask me to lay it out for you any time. However, we are under safe assumption that either he isn't alone, or someone else relatively uninvolved has similar vendettas.

"You are a key part in this investigation, Detective. Get some rest, but I expect you to be here by seven at latest. You have information that we cannot do with out, information not even your brother has. Moreover, you can get words out of the Inspector that I doubt the rest of the station could. You mentioned wanting to see him. Return the cruiser and see if you can visit him in the hospital. Find out how long he'll be there. His memory is a precious aspect. Please contact me in the later morning so I know you have received this. Good day, Jones."

The ticking of the clock was the only sound for moments after the tape ended. Instead of the news bringing me down, I found myself with somewhat of a ridiculous smile on my face. I was a key aspect. And I would use that to my advantage. Now I really needed to get back to the station.

I looked over at Arthur expecting to see a scowl, but instead a mix of fear and worry, badly masked by anger was placed on his features. He stared at me, or rather, at my phone, hands twitching in his lap.

He spoke up, finally catching my eyes. "Wipe that smile off your face, this is serious. I don't trust you to retell this story accurately. I get out of here today at noon, just have to wait for the stitches to set in. Wait for me to tell my memories my way." Yeah, like that was going to happen. "You'll make it seem like you're the knight in shining armor, but this is more than that. It isn't about you. Key aspect my ass."

"I'll do whatever I need to do," is what I replied, shoving my phone back in my pocket and standing up. I slapped him on the arm lightly, which was greeted with a very loud protest of pain. I winced to show my apology, scratching the back of my head. "Don't be such a grouch, Artie." To this, he simply snorted, running his fingers over his wound lightly, hissing in pain.

He didn't say a word as I made my way towards the door, slowly on purpose, even though I was itching to become a part of the investigation again.

"One more thing," he said, just as I had my hand curled around the doorknob. "Was that the first time you listened to that?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Hmm..." he sighed. "Thank you for visiting, in that case."

I flashed him a smile and a thumbs up. "Just leave it to me. I'll solve this case, you just watch me!"

I closed the door before I could hear his response, which was fine with me. I opened up my text messages again, scanning them over. The words were old, but what caught my eye was the time they were sent. Each was sent between the times of three and four, a half hour after I received my boss' voicemail. Ludwig had told me to call him as well, but I figured checking in with Matt would keep him from having a heart attack. Well, more than he'd probably had. I hit his speed dial, waving to the receptionist as I walked out, waiting for him to answer.

On the fifth ring, he picked up. "Al? You're already up?"

I nodded, knowing he couldn't see me. "Yeah, just got back from seeing Arthur. This is getting weirder by the second, but nothing I can't handle. What's up?"

A long silence. "I don't feel comfortable telling you over phone..." There was a large amount of background noise, but halfway through his sentence it subsided into a dull roar. "When you get here, I'll explain it. Did you sleep well?"

"Why not? Feel pretty good. Listen, Matt... He doesn't remember anything. I'll tell you what he told me, but even then I have no effin' clue. Do you remember the radio picking up anything besides that weird ass static?"

"Faintly," he muttered, as if unsure of himself. "In between bursts of static, I heard screaming. Not screeching, but just screaming. In English... I couldn't understand a word of it, though. We can replay the tapes, if you want. There's recording devices in those things, eh...."

"Yeah, that'd be helpful, because I sure didn't hear shit." Instead of setting my course to the station, I headed back to my apartment. "I'm going to change, then head over, okay? Then I expect an explanation."

"Got it," he agreed. Just as I was poising to hang up the phone, his voice cut in again. "Oh, and Al? One more thing... I know you can do this. I know you can find a way to prove this is all a misunderstanding. I believe in you."

"Thanks, Matt," I smiled, readjusting the mirrors on the car at a red light. "It means a lot. See you in about ten minutes."

When I arrived at my house, I emptied my pockets onto the bed, throwing off my jeans and shirt in whichever direction was faster. (I think my sweatshirt ended up on Matt's bookshelf.) I retrieved my uniform from the floor, only bothering to smooth it out slightly so I didn't completely look like a hobo who mugged an officer. I threw my possessions back into the pockets of my black slacks, heading out the door again.

The station had no shortage on cars; even those who had an off period seemed to be there. I had some trouble even finding a place to park, but soon enough I was walking towards lobby, keys in hand. Unsurprisingly enough, no one was at the desk. A clear objective in mind, I took a hard right, making my way towards Ludwig's office. Ignoring how rude the gesture might be, I simply opened the door, not bothering to knock. It took him a moment to look up at my entrance. For a split second, his head was in his hands, eyes cast downwards at his desk. However, as soon as he registered my presence, he looked up, mouth in a hard line. Though it might have been my imagination, he looked at least marginally happy to see me.

"Good day," he greeted, brushing his fingers through his already pristine hair. I had always wished my hair would stay in place so perfectly like his... but it was hardly the time to be thinking about that. "See you ignored my call."

"Nah," I shook my head, tossing the keys on his desk. "Just busy, is all. Sorry I didn't come here right away. Went to see Arthur first, and listened to your voicemail. But I'm here now." If not with more questions than answers, but he hardly needed to know that. "What's up?"

"Thank you for coming, in that case," he nodded sternly. "Normally, I would ask you to relay your information to Inspector Kirkland, but as that seems to be out of the question, please, do inform me as to what you know." I told him all I was completely sure on; his intentions heading into the room, how he blacked out, the depth of the wound and the time it could have happened in. With each sentence, his scowl got increasingly more confused and dissatisfied. I was worried I had done something wrong for a moment...

"Interesting," he spoke up after a minute. "So he's going to be in the hospital until noon?"

I confirmed this.

"The wound was quite deep, then, I take it," he said, though I could tell it was more to himself. "From your report and the one the hospital gave us. But according to the tapes of the radio transmission, it all took place in less than a minute. Strange... You may want to tell your brother this, too."

"I was going to."

"He has something to tell you, in return," he informed me. "I would tell you myself, but he has requested that it come from his mouth." I couldn't tell if he was upset about this or not. Then again, if his own brother died, he would probably have the same stern expression... or he could be jumping for joy. You never knew with that guy. I thanked him, beginning to head back to the door when he caught me.

"One more thing, Detective," he said, voice increasing in volume. "It is my request that you do not visit Lorinaitus today. Not until we get things figured out with his attorney."

His attorney? My eyes widened at this as I attempted to inquire, but he cut me off with a curt, "Now go." Too scared of him to really do anything else, I ducked out of the room, heading towards Matthew. Now my curiosities had been really piqued, and there was no way I was not going to my hands on information on this. I stopped outside his door, preparing to throw his door open just as I had done my boss'. Voices inside soon made my hand hesitate, however.

"W-What?" I recognized my brother's voice immediately. From the sound of things, he was more than a little flustered. "N-No, it's fine..."

"You sure?" To my surprise, it was Gilbert I heard next. "Nothing else for us to do. Forensics and interrogation have their hands full, nothing to really search around right now."

"Not necessarily," he began, something crashing to the floor to cut off the start of his next sentence. "-Something we haven't found..."

"Oh, come on," Gilbert's words were more exasperated than pleading. "I'll even pay."

Bewildered, I jerked open the door, making my arrival known with a dramatic, "Never fear, the hero is here!" Both parties froze in place, gazes flying to me. Gilbert's hands, previously on my brother's forearms, dropped to his side, Matthew sliding from his seat on his desk. They were oddly close to each other...

Matthew flushed bright crimson, scrambling backwards to slam into the desk. He braced himself against the wood, flailing ungracefully to his full height. Gilbert snorted, smoothing out the imaginary dust on his uniform. Pushing past me, he muttered something about 'not letting up' before he was down the hallway and out of sight.

"Not what it looks like!" Matt tried desperately to explain, readjusting his crooked glasses.

"Relax," I ordered, though one of my eyebrows was raised. "Anyway, I'm here. I'll explain what I know first, and you can play me the tapes later. I just want to know what the hell is going on that I've missed that you seem to know." I hadn't realized my voice was almost a whine by the end of the sentence.

"R-Right," he sighed, taking a seat, gesturing for me to do the same. I remained standing. I did just as I had done with Ludwig, only making the story a bit more personal, rephrasing almost exactly what Arthur had told me.

As I finished, he opened his mouth to inquire, but I didn't allow him the luxury. "Your turn," I reminded him, fiddling mindlessly with a pen.

He nodded, diving into his story. It was only then I realized the deep circles under his eyes, and the way they fell almost half-lidded, pleading to close. Scanning him over, he was nearly in worse shape than me. "We couldn't find anyone there, but I wanted to go back anyway, to try to find more evidence. It's what you would have done, isn't it? I just felt like I needed to do something, since you couldn't be there... I decided to search around the crime scene again, when I got a call from Kiku. They had run tests on the blood they found initially, and it wasn't just one person. You know how the stains didn't match? There was Ivan's blood, true, but..." He swallowed before he continued. "They found most of the blood across the walls was Toris'."

If I had been sitting down, I would have surely jumped out of my seat. Instead, I stared at him, mouth agape and hands on the wood to keep myself from falling over.

He kept on going, though his entire frame was shaking. "Gilbert found out too, obviously. He told me he marched right into Toris' ward and told him to strip down. He did, and according to him, there were three very recent whiplashes across his skin, like you saw. But they were sealed, right? Well, they were bleeding then... It still doesn't explain anything... like how it was splattered across..." He trailed off, looking as if he were trying to remember something. He rubbed at his nose, taking in a large breath. "Oh! Sorry, forgot to mention something... right, besides the lashes, his legs were gashed up, new as well... Toris freaked out before he could see anything more, though. I don't blame him. I feel so bad for him..."

"I do too," I said, muscles not even starting to relax. "Oh god..." I shook my head. "It makes no sense... Anything else? You were freaking out pretty badly earlier this morning."

"I was," he almost whispered. "It was about that, partially..."

"Partially?"

"While I was looking around, I found this..." He opened up his desk drawer, slowly but surely, drawing out a small handgun. "It wasn't used," he explained. "All the bullets are still loaded, and it was pretty well hidden, in a second false drawer. It was a lot harder to get into... But when I got it in my hands, it was like it was on fire…" He held up his left hand, bandaged, though I hadn't noticed before. He peeled off the top just enough for me too see the reddened, agitated flesh underneath, before he quickly set it back in place. "I thought it was important, so I risked the burn and brought it back."

I hissed, staring at the gun. It looked innocent enough, besides the obvious, though I was hesitant to even look at it too long. Instead, I focused on his hand. (The good one.) "What did you find out about it?"

"It had been heated up to dangerous levels right before I had found it," he explained. "According to Kiku, that is. I'd believe it, but I'm surprised my burns weren't worse..." He twisted the bandages in his hand, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. "It was burning hot until I arrived at the station, I know that much. It was steadily cooling down the entire time, it hurt, though. But it had to have been heated up recently, and we locked all the entrances."  
"So they would have had to know you were coming, and had a means to get in. Any evidence of breaking and entering?"

He shook his head. "Didn't check. I was focused on getting out... You have to understand, Al. It's creepy in there."

"Do I ever," I tousled my already messy hair, staring at the floor. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I know," he forced a smile on his lips. "I wanted to. If you're worried about my hand, I'll be fine, eh?"

"If you're sure..."

"If you're wondering why I texted you," he said, after a moment. "Its because I guess I was a bit scared, is all. I waited a bit before telling Ludwig, and I must have not looked all that great, because Gilbert was concerned. He doesn't look like it, but he's actually really nice." I rolled my eyes. He must have been blind not to realize why he was being so nice to him... I didn't say anything on the matter, though. "I hope you don't mind, sorry if I bothered you..."

"No, it's not a problem," I hand-waved, "Thank you, really. Can you do something for me in return?"

"Anything."

"Don't let them send me home again," I commanded. "I don't care if I look like the ninth layer of hell. Also, Ludwig mentioned something about an attorney?"

He looked around the room, as if worried someone was listening as he leaned in. "They don't want anyone out of interrogation to know about this just yet, but someone wants to pay bail. Since he's asking to pay it in chunks, and the nature of everything... I doubt it will work, anyway. But he will have lawyer representing, which gives us opportunity, right? I know Ludwig doesn't want anyone but Vash and Roderich, but I think I can convince..." I might have imagined the flush of color in his face. "Either way, we can use to our advantage, don't you think?"

"No kidding," I agreed, my mind reeling. If I could be in the same room during his interrogation, I would be able to get the information out of him that would leave without a shred of doubt that it couldn't be him. I was already going over the things to say, the questions to ask, the retaliations...

Matthew's voice drew me back to reality. "What Arthur said is important, too," he mused. "It was better that you were the one asking him, at that."

"What do you mean?" I raised an eyebrow, finally giving in and pulling up a chair.

"He'd lie otherwise," he replied, like it was as simple as Kindergarten math. "If I had gone, or anyone else, he would have either lied or left out parts from the story. Someone would have gone earlier if we all didn't know you were the only person who could get anything out of him."

I snorted. "The bastard doesn't tell me shit that doesn't involve sarcasm."

His tone took on a new seriousness. "But you're the only one besides him who knows all that happened, eh? You'd be the most informed, so they have to let you in... you were the one there, too. They have to let you in."

I dug my nails into the fabric of my pants. He had a point, and I was grateful for it. "Also, Matt?" I asked, deciding to just drop the subject of Arthur all together. "Ludwig keeps saying there's all this evidence pointing to Toris, but I don't get it..."

A third voice decided to answer that question just as the door clicked open. "Lex talionis," Gilbert said, though for some reason I could clearly tell his pronunciation was a bit off. "Eye for an eye, all that bullshit. Ah, who am I kidding? He just wanted the bastard dead, is all. He abused the shit out of him, so I can see why. Still, never thought he was sick enough to do that. Someone must be really fucking protective of him, to attack a police officer just to push the blame off of him. My bet's on the blonde one. But it's all pretty obvious, isn't it? His blood, the knife… Yeah, yeah, the doors were unlocked, but who the hell would voluntarily venture out there? News from forensics, too, his fingerprints are all over those weapons. No evidence of anyone else ever being in the house. Face it, Jones, he was the only one there."

"Doesn't seem like very good evidence to me," I huffed. "Seems like you're just looking for an excuse to lock someone up." I sent him an empathetic glare, but his eyes were already locked with my brother. I pretended to ignore it. "I honestly don't care what excuse you have. He's innocent, and I'm going to prove it."

"Yeah, yeah, good luck," he dismissed, but it was clear he was now talking to only Matthew. "So, how about my offer?"

My brother looked from the deputy to me, cheeks flushed as he chewed on his bottom lip.

After a minute, he replied, "Uhm, yes..." He turned an even darker shade of red. "I-I would like that." He turned to me. "I won't be long, Al. Call me if anything happens, okay?"

I nodded absentmindedly, not really knowing what was happening anymore. I was too preoccupied with my plan, which would now be known in my head as, 'The Save Toris Crusade' or TSTC for short. Kind of catchy. "Uh huh, have fun."

Gilbert looped his arm around my brother's shoulders, sticking out his tongue at me. "See ya, Jonsey. Come on, Matt. Lunch is on me."

The door closed behind them, and I drew myself back to reality. "Wait, what?" But they were already gone.

I sighed, letting my eyes drift towards the clock. Almost noon. Arthur would be getting out of the hospital soon, and I kind of wanted to greet him, make sure his arm worked, all that jazz. In almost a zombie-like manner, I made my way to my squad car, turning the key in the ignition. Just as I left the station parking lot, my pager all but exploded in my pocket. I turned it on to hear the following message in my ears.

'5968 Stargate. Suicide.'

I set my GPS to the address, sirens blaring as I made my way towards a house I had been a good few times before.

And I knew exactly who it was.

* * *

Cliffhangers for the win? Okay, maybe not, but it seemed like a good place to end the chapter. Who's dead now? Great question, I'd love to see who you think it is! I feel like such an attention whore for asking this, but if you enjoy the story, please leave a comment! I love hearing from you guys, and it's really encouraging. On another note, I've gotten a fair amount of favorites and watches, so thank you very much for that! (:

I'll be trying to keep my weekly update schedule, but standardized testing is this week, so we'll see how that works out… I promise not to make you all wait to long, though!


	4. Notice and an apology!

Okay, guys, I think I owe a huge apology here.

I haven't updated in months! I could go into a bunch of excuses for this, like studying abroad and tests and a packed summer, but really it boils down to that I just, plain and simple, lost the motivation.

But, good news for people who did end up liking this, I will be starting back up. It might be a while, but I was half way done with chapter 4 when I left off, so I basically just have to A) figure out where exactly I was heading with this chapter (I never wrote out a construct outline for this) and B) finish the chapter and assess what I want to do next.

I can't promise any date or time frame in fear of breaking promises (again) but I'll try to whip up something, alright?

- Sydney


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